


You’re the Closest to Heaven

by Daiako (Achrya)



Series: Kinktober 2020 [6]
Category: Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: ABOtober 2020, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Bad Decisions, Comfort Sex, Consensual Underage Sex, Crying, Cunnilingus, Dual Sex Omegas, Guilt, Kinktober 2020, M/M, Omega Verse, Underage Sex, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 05:34:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26846734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Achrya/pseuds/Daiako
Summary: When confronted with a crying, uncertain Miles Peter B does what he does best: Fucks everything up.Prompts: Cunnilingus/Gentling
Relationships: Miles Morales/Peter B. Parker
Series: Kinktober 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1937473
Comments: 6
Kudos: 116





	You’re the Closest to Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> 'Don't write Peter B/Miles' someone on twitter says 'It's a pedoship and basically incest and gross and wrong wrong wrong.' 
> 
> Raya nodded her understanding, leaned towards the mic and spoke a single word. 'Bet.'

Peter B Parker has done a lot of things wrong in his life. He had more regrets than he cares to count, a veritable library of bad decision greatest hits that he carried with him everywhere, readily available to be remembered and agonized over at any time. He had always thought Uncle Ben’s and Gwen’s deaths, followed by...so so many things with Mary Jane, more than he could put a number to, big and small, would top the list of things he hated himself for. What could be worse than turning his back on human decency and losing his uncle as a direct consequence, being unable to save Gwen, or carelessly squandering the love of the best person he’d ever met because he was afraid of what could go wrong? 

He had been so sure he’d hit rock bottom. 

Stupid of him. He should have known that if anyone could find a way to crawl beneath bedrock and achieve new, awful levels of Bad Fucking Choices it was him. Parker luck always reared its ugly head just when he was getting comfortable and true to form here he was, screwing up his life again, as he was so good at doing. 

But worse than ever before because how could anything compete with willfully, knowingly, having sex with his underage mentee? Was there actually any chance of coming back from something like that, when he was so very aware that he shouldn’t be doing it in the first place. 

If your answer is “Wow, no, Peter that is indeed a not yet seen height of fuckshit behavior, I can think of nothing worse, you are truly irredeemable, good job you piece of shit” then you were about where Peter was at the moment. But hopefully minus the lap of tipsy, soft eyed, softly panting teenage omega, because that would be A. Oddly coincidental considering and B. Illegal and pretty terrible. Not that he was in a position to judge, what with crawling up his body to taste that kiss swollen mouth again and pressing a hand at the small of the boys back as he turned them onto their sides to fit together on the couch. 

What with not stopping what he was doing, even though he knew he should. 

No, no, Peter had completely forgone any manner of moral high ground the minute his solution to Miles’ crying all over his sweatshirt had been to wrap his arms around the kid and kiss him. He had no excuse for it, not really, or for any of the mistakes that had led him here. He could have stepped back at any time, used his head and been the reasonable adult he was trying to be where Miles was concerned, but instead he’d just gotten deeper and deeper until any semblance of control was lost. 

This was the first time they’d worked together in nearly a month, Miles had canceled their usual weekly meet ups under the guise of having a ton of homework to catch up on and Peter had let it lie. Teenagers were weird as a rule and he knew that throwing spider powers and crime fighting could made things worse. It ate up your study time, for sure, and if Peter was honest he’d never really managed to Work-Social-Spider balance. That was probably why he was divorced, lonely, and even after getting his shit a little more together was slumming it in a slightly nicer, but still pretty shitty, one room apartment. If MIles said he needed time then time Peter was happy to give, without question. 

Even if it was a little weird that Miles had gone from enthusiastically messaging him multiple times a day and trying to push for more time on the street together to barely speaking to him and not wanting Peter to come over and help him out with anything. And a month was a long time...but he hadn’t asked. 

Maybe he should have asked, when Miles announced he’d be crossing dimensions this week but he’d been happy to see the kid and hadn’t wanted to make it a Thing. 

When, after a successful day of web slinging and criminal punching, Miles had asked to crash instead of heading back to his dimension Peter should have said no. There were a lot of reasons, from the risk of glitching (sure, he and Penny had mostly smoothed it all over but anything could happen to why mess around with a good thing) to the fact he shouldn’t encourage Miles to lie to his parents (any more than he already had to as Spiderman). But Miles has been off all day, quieter than usual and jittery, jumping at every sound and flinching away when Peter got close to him. He spent the whole afternoon just out of range of the shoulder pats and back slaps Peter hadn’t realized he was so liberal with until then. He wanted to help, if he could, and letting the kid stay the night if he needed a break from his world wasn’t so bad, was it? 

He for sure shouldn’t have let Miles drink his way through a case of wine coolers MJ has left behind when they’d finally thrown in the towel for good, stashed in the bottom of the fridge and completely forgotten about because he never went into the damn thing. But he’d justified it to himself: better to let Miles drink with him, under responsible adult supervision than someone else. They were just wine coolers, far from a big deal. Spider metabolism would probably process the booze before Miles felt more than a buzz. 

It was fine. And even if it wasn’t he’d never been any good at telling Miles no when he hit him with the big brown puppy dog eyes. Those things were more lethal than any villain of the week Peter had tangled with. 

When he’d realized his mentee was way more than buzzed, having torn through most of the case while Peter was out securing them pizzas from the place around the corner, he should have forced food and water into Miles then sent him off to bed. Corralling him onto the couch to watch a movie, and saying nothing as another bottle found it’s way into Miles’ hand had just been stupid, really. But it was so clear something was wrong, the kid was curled into the corner with his shoulders hunched like he was carrying the world on them, and Peter hadn’t been able to tell him no. 

He should have asked then, tried to get to the bottom of what had Miles so twisted up. None of this was like the kid, he was basically a big flashing ‘Something is Wrong’ sign, but Peter had never been great at that sort of thing. Oh, he could banter and snark with the best of them and the public liked him well enough, Spiderman had sat on many a stoop or fire escape just talking to people when they needed any ear, but when it came to comforting people as Peter Parker he’d never been able to say the right thing.

Case in point when Miles, small and unmoving under the quilt Peter had tossed over him, shifted to look up at and asked, voice a shaking whisper, if there were any omega heroes in Peter’s world there were about a dozen things he could have said that weren’t terrible. He could have pointed to Sue Storm, who was so terrifying when her pack or pups were threatened that even intergalactic threats had learned to not fuck with her, or Tony Stark who had been open (and loud) about his status, refused to be collared or hidden, and had faced down disapproval at the idea of a ‘playboy’ omega with his usual charming smarm. He could have brought up Cyclops, with the X-men, thought admittedly that guy was a poster child for dysfunction so maybe not. He could have said something about how Miles could do whatever he wanted, secondary sex be damned, and listed all the adaptions that existed to make omegas safe: scent blockers, heat suppressors, hearing modulators that took the bite out of alpha commands, bite proof fabric to protect the mating glands from assault and the nape froms scruffing, scent filters to keep alphas from pheromone bombing. 

The days of omega heroes being afraid that any asshole alpha who was a little bit higher in the hierarchy than average would be able to bark an order and put them on their knees or where mating with a friend for protection was the best of a lot of potentially bad outcomes, were long gone. 

He could have said any of that. What he said, as his brain slotted all the information he had into place (Miles, suddenly avoiding him for a month, not letting him within touching distance, so stressed out it showed in the slope of his shoulders and was all over his face) was “Oh shit.” 

Which. 

Not helpful. 

At all. 

Miles wasn’t a crier. Peter could count on one hand the times he’d seen the kid tear up, two of which had involved his uncle and another one had been after failing to save a man from a burning building (He’d been burned so badly Peter had to bring him over to his world and take him to Avenger’s Tower, and speak to Tony for the first time in three years, to get patched up by people qualified to deal things like healing factors and metabolism that made most pain medication useless, and still Miles had cried for a man he didn’t know even as doctors scrubbed seared skin from his hands). He dealt with whatever the world threw at him with a dogged determination that made Peter so proud he sometimes felt like he would burst from it, and scared the absolute shit out of him in equal turns. 

So when tears spilled over from his eyes in fat droplets Peter knew he’d said the absolute worst thing he could. “Wait wait, that’s not- Miles. Miles, don’t cry, please.”

He was not good with crying omegas. It cranked his natural failure at being a helpful human being up to eleven, threw in a bunch of conflicting instinctual impulses, and blended it all together until he could barely think straight. 

The boy turned away, curling in on himself more, even as he scrubbed at his face with the sleeve of the hoodie he’d borrowed from Peter’s dresser. “Sorry.” 

“Fu- Don’t be sorry.” Peter said, hands reaching out in an abortive gesture to do...he didn’t know what, but he stopped just shut of touching miles and felt like an idiot, hands just hovering there, unsure. “I’m...it’s not a big deal. Twenty percent of the population are omegas, in my world at least, and-” 

“I had to move into a special dorm, with security for ‘my protection’ and now I’m in some bullshit omega health and safety class. My parents are...losing it. All this stuff to hide my scent, and protect my neck and they don’t want me outside alone.” Miles laughed, sharp and humorless. Peter’s gut twisted. “How can I be Spiderman if I can’t even make the trip from home to school alone? How can I do *anything* like this?” 

Peter didn’t have any answers for that. He’d presented as an alpha a little after being bitten and if anything that had made his life easier. He’d shot up in height, put on some muscle, and his alpha teeth had come in in what the school nurse had called record time; he’d gone from scrawny and unpresented to an oddly commanding presence what felt like overnight. 

It was different for omegas, especially male ones. Their whole bodies changed, inside and out, growth slowed down, and suddenly there was danger. All it took was one asshole to ruin an omegas life, to force bond them forever, and for all that it was wrong it was also impossible to do anything about once it was done. What could anyone do, lock up an omega’s mate? Separate them, causing further harm to the omega in the process? 

Miles’ parents were just being cautious. Peter could understand that, maybe more than he would have thought because as he looked at Miles, silently sobbing into the corner of his couch, something sparked in his chest. The scent of distress was heavy in the air, pushing past the clean nothingness that he was used to coming from Miles (he hadn’t noticed it before but now it scented as artificial to him, not the blandness of someone who hadn’t matured but the faintly chemical scrubbed clean scent of someone hiding themselves) and it clawed at his hindbrain, demanded the usually contained, quiet part of himself pay attention. His teeth ground and his fingers twitched, flexed. It was hard to breathe through the heavy, sour smell of upset mixed with delicate, barely there omega sweetness. 

There was an unmated omega in his territory, in his clothes, with his scent clinging to him, sobbing silently in front of him. An omega he was attached to, who he’d scent marked on occasion, who he considered his responsibility, his pack in so far as he had one. (It was closer than he should have let them be, it wasn’t socially acceptable for an unrelated alpha to go around scenting someone else’s pup, it could imply a lot of things and none of them were good but he found himself unconsciously doing it anyway, brushes of his wrist against Miles’s neck to transfer his scent before patrols) 

This is where he made his next mistake. He gathered Miles up, the uncertainty that had stopped him from touching before crushed under the weight of his need to comfort, of animal instinct and human obligation combining, and pulled him more or less into his lap. Miles stiffened for a beat then, as Peter’s arms closed around him, crumpled against him, face pressed into his chest. His body shook and his hands clenched the fabric of Peter’s sweatshirt, turning the worn gray cloth around his fists. 

Peter dropped his head to the top of Miles’ head, nose pressing into soft curls and breathing him in; he wrapped one hand around the nape of the boy’s neck and the other rubbed his back, rubbing slow circles. He could catch Miles’ scent better like this, elusive as it was under the distress and blockers, warm sugar and citrus that he could taste on the tip of his tongue. He could see the edge of the clear patch now, surface reflecting the flickering blue of the TV. He curled himself around Miles, pressed his face to the boy’s neck then shifted slightly so they were gland to gland, skin to skin, as much as they could be with the patch in the way. It was intimate, too intimate really, the sort of thing reserved for mates and lovers and very rarely children, but he couldn’t not do it. 

Miles’ breath hitched, wet and pitched high; he gripped Peter’s shirt tighter and...unwound in his arms, all the tension in his body just drained out like someone had pulled a plug inside of him. 

And maybe they would have been fine like that, Peter holding Miles close and keeping him wrapped up in his scent, pressure at his nape in a way he would never normally do because forcing calm on an omega like this was messed up. The movie played out and the screen went dark, leaving only the soft silver of the moon and lights of the bodega across the street casting light into the small apartment. Peter didn’t know how long they were like that, quiet except for Miles’ tears and, once those faded not even that. It would have been uncomfortable later, a whole lot of too much and overstepping and showing too much to each other, but they would have gotten past it. 

But then Miles moved, lifted his head and turned to look up at Peter, eyes wet and gleaming in the moonlight, so close their noses were practically touching. 

And here, right here, is where Peter took a step past ‘uncomfortable but not absolutely wrong behavior’ right into ‘illegal and unacceptable’. He moved his hand to MIles’ chin, tipped his chin up, and then they were kissing. He heard the surprised inhale, swallowed it down with a slow, invasive lick of his tongue into Miles’ mouth, tasted fruit and alcohol on his lips and tongue, and delved deep. 

It would have been nice if he could say it was a blur after that, that some strange force took him over and made him do things he could scarcely remember, but that wouldn’t have been true. It was his hand that peeled away the scent blocked from Miles’ neck, spilled the hauntingly perfect scent of new, freshly matured omega out into the room, and his mouth that sought it out. He kissed and licked, sucked at the raised flesh of Miles’ mating gland and worried at it carefully with his teeth. Miles squirmed against him, gasping and whining in that mind shattering way only omegas could, hands pulling and grasping at every bit of Peter they came in contact with. 

Peter kissed him again, sucked at a full lower lips before swiping past, into Miles’ mouth again. It was messy, uncoordinated and awkward as Miles tried to follow along, but Peter just kissed him hard, sucked his tongue into his mouth and chased every moan Miles’ gave up. His hands trailed lower, snuck under the hem of his own hoodie to press at warm, sweat damp skin before he was pulling it off and tossing it aside. Miles’ tshirt followed and then they parted to breathe, spit pulling between them in a thin string. 

This might have also been a good time to stop, damage done and relationship destroyed but but the final line not yet crossed. But his whole awareness was narrowed down to Miles, panting, eyes huge in his face, licking at his lips, dazed and shaky and no longer crying, and the teasing honey scent of arousal thick between them. He couldn’t stop himself, not now. 

Or maybe he was just an old, sad pervert. 

Either way he tugged Miles’ (Peter’s) sleep shorts away, pushed the omega flat onto his back on the couch, and slotted himself between his thighs. The smell of damp and musk, and the very prominent tang of a heat, recently ended, made Peter’s teeth itch and his mouth water. He was surprised, faintly, that Miles looked to have completely developed already, seam fully open and wet with slick. It took time for a male omega to mature, sometimes as long as a year after the first heat, but Miles was slippery and hot, tight but not permissively so, around the finger he sank into his cunt. (Healing factor at work, maybe, hurrying Miles through this growth as if the change was a wound that needed mended) 

Miles wailed, back arching up off the couch and thighs shaking. “Oh fuck,” Miles breathed when he caught his breath, blown wide eyes staring down the length of his body at Peter. “I- oh man, oh, Peter, I-HNNGH!” 

He tasted like he smelled, warm honey and musk and just a little bitter, and trembled when Peter’s tongue delved past slick folds into his body. He licked into him, twisting his tongue around his thrusting finger, and sought out every drop of slick he could take from the omega’s shaking body. The sound Miles made was more animal than human, sharp and trilling then melting into something husky and drawn out, and his hips bucked up until Peter wrapped his free hand around his hip and held him in place with more strength than he would ever allow himself to use with someone who wasn’t like him, like them.

The neighbors were going to have words for him and the noise Miles was making next time he saw them. Miles shouted and keened, choked off nonsense words falling from his mouth, and clawed at the couch. Peter lifted from the damp heat of his sex to press a kiss to the head of his cock, hard and dripping precum, sucked the head into his mouth as he pressed another finger into Miles’ body. He thrust, feeling the tightness around his fingers, learning the feel of Miles before he curled his fingers upwards, seeking. 

Another shout and Miles’ thighs clenched around his ears with a strength that would have crushed someone else. (Not a terrible way to go, an awful part of Peter wanted to laugh.)

He left Miles’ cock in favor of his clit, careful as he worked his tongue along the underside then sealed his lips over it to suckle at the stiff nub. It was all new to Miles, probably sensitive and strange, intense. But not, if the way he moaned and his cock spurted clear, thin fluid of his belly was anything to judge by, bad. He stayed where he was, tongue swirling around Miles’ clit and fingers fucking into his fluttering heat, until the boy was limp and whimpering, twisting away from his touch. 

He pulled away, wiping away the slick smeared over his mouth, and considered the sleepy, glazed eyes watching him, the swollen, wet mouth, the way lines of moonlight fell over Miles’ body, and felt the crushing weight of what he’d just done slam into him. Miles wasn’t reeking of sadness and frustration and distress anymore, but a tired contentment that matched the sleepy way he was blinking at the ceiling, gentled and satisfied by an alpha. 

He had just used sex to turn his mentee’s brain into soup to make him feel better. It was a very alpha thing to do, if one was an emotionally stunted asshole of an alpha who threw his knot around to fix problems, a call back to old primal instinct. An instinct that shouldn’t show itself with an omega who wasn’t a mate or potential mate, wouldn’t show itself unless the right kind of bond was there, or starting to form. 

Peter didn’t think he’d ever lost a hardon so fast. He might have rolled away and thrown himself out the closest window if Miles hadn’t reached for him, face open and awed and vulnerable and beautiful. Peter slipped back up to kiss Miles again, twisted around to hold the boy against him as he settled them onto the couch, and closed his eyes. 

In the grand scheme of things a little cuddling was just a drop in the bucket. There was no point in denying Miles’ now. 

And, if he was honest, he didn’t really want to. 


End file.
